


The Borrowing of Ser Aymeric de Borel

by LilacsandFreedom



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Gen, Is this crack?, Light Angst, Light Canon Divergence, Near Death Experiences, Open to Interpretation, Patch 3.0: Heavensward Spoilers, Religious Discussion, White Mage Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), as to how real it is anyway, listen we only have some lore bits with The Twelve I think I have creative freedom here, maybe..., original interpretation of canon characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-05 18:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20493185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacsandFreedom/pseuds/LilacsandFreedom
Summary: In which a careless decision with glamour leads to a temporary absence of the Lord Commander (for if it were permanent, certainly the Warrior of Light would burn Ishgard to the ground and we can't be having that).





	The Borrowing of Ser Aymeric de Borel

It all happened very quickly. The sharp pain in his side, the fall, the regret, and the fog that fell over him as he bled out over the cobblestones. It was almost instantaneous.

The Fury came to him. 

Wreathed in white and silver light, she shone as a guiding star against the pitch night. He clung to the image of Her like a beacon. He was certain he’d seen Her before, long ago. When he was young, when a dragon taking cover in the winter set upon them...that was when. He barely saw the thing, only heard the roar and felt the impact of its wings sending him flying hard into the stonework of the vigil. It was then the Fury came to him. White and silver, Her eyes clear as crystal, she watched him closely as the sights and sounds of the battle surrounding him faded, faded, faded...

His heart ached to look upon Her. To receive of Her audience now, _ now _of all times. Him of all people...what could he say? Was it his place to say them?

Was it all a lie, Halone? Have you heard us? Were you ever listening? And what of those we’ve killed for our secrets? Have you taken them? Were you ever really there? _ Great Fury, patron of my nation, I beseech you... _

There was a great weight, a tremendous lightness. As weak as he was, he couldn’t dare to drift, to fade, _ I can’t abandon them, I can’t. _He wished to reach out to Her. Answer my prayer. Please tell me, Halone. A part of him wished to go with Her, to end the pain, to rest, to fade…

She seemed to sigh, weary, weighted. You as well, Halone? Even the gods grew tired of the games of mortals. Eternity was long enough to see the futility of it, he supposed. Eternity was long enough to see this winter melt into spring, to see the flowers grow, to finish his duties and watch the fruits of them in endless, peaceful dreams.

_ But, I’ve not finished _.

She took his wrist, firmly, gently, and pulled him up. “I’m not taking you, you foolish man, only borrowing.”

_ Borrowing? _

“Yes. It’s not all that difficult to understand.”

He looked down at himself. He was ashen, his eyes half-closed. “I’m dying.”

She tugged at his hand. “Yes, yes, a wound like that _ will _ do that to you. But, I’ve already told you, I’m not taking you. I’m _ borrowing _ you, Aymeric. Believe me, if I took you, your dear warrior of light would raze Ishgard to the ground and we can’t be having that. Now come along, best to get away from the racket.”

He followed.

“That armor of yours looks quite sturdy,” She said, “And that knife sharper than it seemed. Still, I wonder how it managed to get through...you’ve been maintaining your armor, I hope,_ Lord Commander? _”

In a daze, he spoke freely. “It was a glamour. My friend taught me how to make them and I, unwilling to go to the trouble of going out in full armor for an evening walk, merely glamoured my plainclothes. To look official, I thought. I was careless.”

“Take it as a lesson that it’s usually the other way around. Glamour your armor, surprise your opponent when he finds that “bare flesh” breaks his blade. We mustn’t ever let our guard down prematurely. No matter, you’ll live through it.”

He was starting to doubt it...the vision felt too real-- She too solid, he too light, and the night too clear-- to be a product of a fearful, fevered mind.

“Why have you come to me?” he asked.

“You _ are _ dying,” She said. “I promised to take care of my people and I will do so. It’s what I _ can _do at any rate.”

And he noticed how tired She looked. Older, maybe, than the depictions showed. Her free hand, slack at her side, trembled somewhat. He thought he saw small, glowing cracks along her arm, stretching up well past her shoulder. Even the gods grew weary…

“Why have you “borrowed” me then?”

“I heard you.” She said. “That desperate prayer of yours.”

He stopped, uncertain of what to say. It didn’t seem to be his place.

“Are you surprised that the gods can hear you? I can’t say I blame you. But, this isn’t the time. Now keep up.”

Carving a path against the wind, their steps left no marks in the snow. He followed Her Eastward, close and far from the city. A sinking came over him when he remembered the end of the path. It was not the first loss. It would not be the last. But, he’d never seen the Warrior of Light-- the radiant, implacable Warrior of Light-- so faded.

“I know this place.” he said.

“Aye, so you should. Do you know how difficult it is to restrain that man one-handed? Every time your friend comes here, I find myself clutching at his collar as a hunter would their hound.”

“How often do they come?”

She shook her head. “More times than I’d like, certainly. But, often it isn’t this memorial they look to. This is what I wish to show you as we speak. See?”

Over the cliff, in the distance Ishgard stood as a softly glowing shadow against the starlight. A city sleeping with fear in its heart and blood in its every stone. But, it was a fine city all the same. Proud, stubborn, much like the people in it. Hopeful. Eyes always heavensward. It was his. His nation, his people, his home, and of course he would have done anything to protect every source of every small light piercing through its silhouette. Nothing could be done for the past. The wounds could not be unmade nor the dead returned. But, the future and all that happened in it was a different story. He wanted to write it.

“I cannot wield my spear as I once did, courtesy that great bloody dragon.” She said. “Before that, I thought it not my business to attend to the matters of others. My people before all else. Protection and grace. A good death-- swift, painless, for a good cause above all. I was always listening. It’s hard to answer when you lot are all so stubborn...not that I don’t take a certain pride your stubbornness.”

He found his gaze drifting to Her limp hand. “And what of Ratatoskr? The start of the war?”

“For that I have no answer. Not for you, not for anyone.”

There was something in his heart. “And what of the lives lost?”

“Again, I have no answer. I take care of my people, that’s all I can say for certain.”

It boiled slowly. “The families torn? The lies told?”

“No answer.”

And as the fog of his mind cleared, it rose to a burning. “No answer then, for everything done in your name? For all that was gained and lost over a _ lie? _A tragic history written as a just and noble fable? Is there nothing?”

She was silent.

“No answer.” He said.

She didn’t look at him.

A fury deep within his soul soared from his heart and past his lips. “Then you are no different from those who sought to keep this war eternal. To keep the dead silent, to keep the truth-- painful it may have been-- far from all, and for what? Power? Glory? The snow runs red with blood, the air is thick with it from here to the peak of Sohm Al.”

It could have flown all the way to the Churning Mists and joined with the thunders of the Aery. “And for what? For ten thousand upon ten thousand souls to die “good” deaths never knowing that it was all a _ lie _ . What do you tell them? What _ can _you tell them? What peace is there for them beyond blissful ignorance? What purpose beyond bones to bury the sight of the blood on our hands and at our feet? You are no different.”

And it fell slowly, down with the snows over Coerthas. “And neither am I. To never question it. To never think of questioning it. A naive fool in this farce of a thousand years. I have no answer. I can only carry on and pray that my actions may begin to mend these thousand wounds, these thousand years of pointless deaths.”

There was a silence for a time. Night gave way to dusk and the haze fell back over him. Halone placed a hand on his head. “Keep that fire going, Aymeric. I can tell you’re going to need it. Let’s not repeat our mistakes.”

A smile crossed Her face as she looked out over the horizon line. “Ah...here we go.”

Sunrise fell over Coerthas. It fell over the mountains, over the snow-filled plains, over the great towers of Ishgard ‘til all seemed to be golden in its light. For a singular moment, there was a beautiful peace the likes of which hadn’t been seen in a thousand years. There was warmth in the winter and quiet over the battlefield. He blinked and it was gone.

“The golden hour.” She said. “Brief, but precious. Much like life. Remember how it felt to see it from here. You won’t see it yourself, but something makes me think that you don’t care if _ you _get to see it.”

“Well then,” She continued, “My time to borrow you will soon be over. Right now, the Warrior of Light is racing toward Ishgard, soon they will-- oh there they go over the Steps of Faith already, my word, they’re awfully quick, aren’t they?”

“How did they know?” he asked. “It only happened last night.”

“Ah, funny thing, time...a little bird likely told them that something was amiss some days ago.”

“_ Days? _”

“That kind of injury gave me some time-- they hit quite the mark, they did. I’m almost impressed, but it was certainly more luck than anything. Either way, you’ll live. You’d better. I don’t want to have to come back for you until your hair’s white as the snow, do you understand me, _ Lord Commander? _”

He felt heavy. “I have no plans for it.”

“Good. Now I’d best let you go.” 

At the back of his throat was a sweetness. “I can’t abandon them now, no...never.”

“Good, good, keep that conviction. This is your war. Fight it.”

The sunrise melted into a warm darkness and nothing more.

The Fury came to him. Wreathed in white and silver and scarlet…

No.

His mouth tasted of honey and there was a warmth over his chest and at his side. A pain, yes, but dull and distant for the moment. And there was a murmuring in the air, a prayer repeated over and over until the words held no meaning and only the sound and intention remained.

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to find the Warrior of Light at his bedside, their hands aglow with a raw and potent magic. He remembered seeing them perform it like this before. To think they would deem it necessary…

They stopped and grasped him by the collar. “Aymeric you blessed fool, do you know how terribly you frightened me?! Damn it all, I turn my head for not even a moment and already you’re half-dead, muttering about the Fury, and the city’s practically up in flames! Twelve save me, I know why Lucia and Estinien share _ white hair! _”

In a daze, he spoke, his voice weak and weary. “It’s good to see you, my friend...you should refrain from your visits to Lord Haurchefant’s memorial for awhile. She only has one hand with which to keep him from running to you...”

Even in this state, he noticed a brief glint in their eyes. Surprise? Concern? Something else? He couldn’t say. “Well, now I know for certain I’m not done here.”

He knew too. Dream or vision, it was true. They could only move forward and hope and pray to not repeat the same mistakes. That the future was truly their own...there was almost a comfort in the uncertainty of it.

The warrior took up their cane and filled the air with the scent of the Twelveswood as they fussed over him. “I don’t want to think about what could prompt you to say such a thing. Honestly, to think you’d glamour your_ plainclothes… _” they muttered, “No matter. No injuries to the head, got some color back, now look at me! ...hmm, yes, yes, at least my efforts are doing something. Should let you sleep safe in the knowledge that you’ll wake up at least.”

He took their wrist, firmly, gently. “Thank you. It means more than you know.”

They patted his hand. “Oh yes, yes...my, you’re a strange thing all lost of blood and filled of _ Cura _. Alright, rest. If not for your sake, then for mine. If not for mine, then for those who need you still. Leave us, Aymeric, I swear to you that I will burn this city to the ground.”

The last thing he said was, “I don’t doubt you” before falling to repose, somewhat lighter than he’d been before.

**Author's Note:**

> I may be in the throes of Shadowbringers right now, but I still think about Heavensward often (no surprises there). This was an idea I was toying with some time ago, but it finally seemed to work out. Like "Wyrm's Blood" it's something a little different, something written mostly for kicks, but it's not nearly as experimental as that one. Morbid as it sounds, Near Death Experiences are always fun for me to write, so I hope you enjoyed reading this too!
> 
> As always, thank you very much!


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